You Didn't Even Bother To Ask
by alabaster-demon
Summary: ...If You Could Keep It, Did You? An old b-day gift fic for the Perceptor-loving kirin-saga. Starring Brawn, Perceptor, and Perceptor's latest science project. Guess what Brawn's job was before the war? Oneshot.


**"You Didn't Even Bother To _Ask_ If You Could Keep It, Did You?"**

With a brief pause to let the door-scanners recognize him, Brawn stepped out of the garish orange main corridors of the Ark and passed into the carefully-guarded inner sanctum of the scientific 'Bots. Unlike the rest of the hallways, this area had been repainted in a blend of soothing shades of blue. Perceptor had suggested that "environmental changes such as varying pigment staining on otherwise unadorned wall surfaces could positively affect levels of creativity and concentration." Ratchet had somehow interpreted this as "it'll keep Wheeljack more focused so he doesn't cause as many explosions" and had recruited the twins to help Perceptor with his brief venture into interior decorating. The paint was still drying in some places, and Sideswipe had to be threatened at length with potential wrench-dents and brig time before he agreed not to sneak in and 'redecorate' in his own style.

Nodding gruffly up at Skyfire as he passed by, Brawn strode purposefully toward the lab at the end of the hall. Usually, Brawn would be insulted at being sent to deliver a memo like a delicate civilian message-mech, but this was a special case.

For one thing, the Bots' internal comm units and the Ark's back-up P.A. system had been temporarily shut down, thanks to Soundwave and company in the latest Decepticon attack. Laserbeak in particular had done some serious damage to almost all of the Ark's systems, and it was rumored that Teletraan-1 was conspiring with Red Alert to integrate Cassette-sized booby traps into the Ark's security.

In addition, the same Decepticon attack had removed several mechs from active duty. Many were currently stuck in the repair bay and thus incapable of carrying the message.

But the main reason, and the one which had prompted Brawn to volunteer for this task, was simply that it wasn't often Perceptor's presence would be required at a _combat_-related strategy meeting, and he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease his friend about it.

Brawn paused at the doorway to Perceptor's spacious work area, peering in cautiously. He never bothered to knock. If Perceptor was working there, he would either be too absorbed in his latest project to notice the sound, or he'd be so excited and jumpy about some imminent scientific breakthrough that the unexpected tap of Brawn's hand against the door could make him drop a dangerous chemical. On the other hand, the absentminded scientist would easily dismiss a 'Bot walking in unannounced, assuming that it was merely one of his colleagues checking up on him.

Edging warily into the lab (for Brawn had learned long ago that _any_ unsupervised scientists – and most supervised ones - were potential explosive hazards) Brawn spotted Perceptor huddled to one side. Half-hidden by a table, the microscope was down on his hands and knees, producing a constant stream of strange noises. The noises sounded a bit like the soft snores Swoop had been producing the other day in the rec room (the Dinobot had made the mistake of asking Perceptor to explain some baffling natural occurrence and the scientist had proceeded to lecture him into recharge).

The wordless rumbling continued, rising and falling softly. Shaking his head, Brawn strode across the laboratory to see what was keeping Perceptor so occupied – and stopped in surprise.

"'Ceptor, what _is_ that? Prime just re-explained the policy on unauthorized organics this morning – I know you were there, because Jazz has been laughing all day about how you managed to spill energon on Sunstreaker and get Prowl blamed for it. Have you really been holed up in here since the noon re-fuel, purring over alien contraband?"

Perceptor stood up slowly, turning around with his hands carefully cupped in front of him. His beaming smile indicated to Brawn that the microscope hadn't processed a single word.

"Ah, Brawn! It's splendid of you to pay a visit to my laboratory, especially on this auspicious occasion," the scientist gushed. The delighted expression on his face shifted to a sly grin as he tilted his head. "How fitting, indeed, that _you_ are here to witness my successful containment and _benevolent_ capture of this very small, yet unusually and _ineffectively_ _aggressive_ creature!"

Brawn pointedly ignored the jab and bent slightly to get a closer look at the tiny thing resting in the center of Perceptor's palm. It looked like a puff of grey-and-pale-orange-streaked organic fur, quite similar to the covering of Spike and Carly's heads except for the color. Brawn was about to reprimand Perceptor for stripping the pelt from some helpless human when he noticed that the little ball of fluff was stirring.

The creature uncurled, sprawling across Perceptor's hand as if it had been sparked there. Impossibly small green-gold organic optics flickered slowly open. Intrigued despite himself, Brawn leaned closer…

And yelped as the tiny grey animal flung itself at him, hissing and clinging to his olfactory sensor with sharp little claws.

As Perceptor chirped in distress and begged him to remain still, Brawn tensed and gritted his teeth. Clenching his fists, he resisted the urge to reach up and just scrape the thing off his face. With his head completely stationary, he silently commanded Perceptor with his optics to remove his prized specimen AT ONCE if he wanted to keep it in one piece.

Perceptor held one hand palm-up at the level of Brawn's chin and reached cautiously toward the dangling fluffy organic with the other. Using the tip of one finger, he gently coaxed and nudged the creature until (at last) it relinquished its grip on Brawn. The cat flopped back into the safety of Perceptor's hand, landing on its feet with its tail curled slightly over its back.

As his friend cooed over what he called "a precocious and versatile feline with keen instincts and an innate sense of self-preservation", Brawn sighed and heaved himself up onto a nearby, almost-empty lab surface. The meeting wouldn't start until all officers had been repaired, which would take at least a day or two; so he didn't have to deliver his message right away.

Brawn knew from experience that Perceptor would now proceed to putter around his lab with his latest find, talking to it and thinking up ideas for new experiments. Brawn had seen this happen before. In fact, this was something of an improvement – at least this latest recipient of his chattering was actually a living creature capable of hearing him. With a sigh, Brawn settled in to wait until Perceptor's attention flitted back to him again.

*******************************

Eventually, as Perceptor was digging through a drawer in search of something or other and tossing rejected items carelessly aside, Brawn spoke up. "By the way, 'Ceptor, you won't be able to spend the next week observing that organic animal, as I'm sure you were planning. You're on for the next _battlefield strategy meeting_ as a key speaker."

Perceptor's head whipped around, and he frowned at Brawn – although his hands didn't stop moving, and Brawn watched resignedly as the patch of floor around Perceptor's feet accumulated a small pile of scientific debris. "You know, Brawn, there was a time when I paid you quite a considerable stipend in exchange for your service in _protecting_ me from such base unpleasantness."

Brawn grinned, watching his old friend hop-skip over the mess he'd made and trot toward another drawer. "I'm pretty sure my services as your bodyguard did _not_ include keeping you from doing your duties. In fact, as I recall, one of the original requirements in my contract was to stay as far removed from all aspects of your work as possible."

"That was before I discovered the various degrees and diplomas which you failed to mention on your résumé," Perceptor retorted over his shoulder as his optics scanned the lab distractedly. "You never did produce a non-evasive answer as to the reason for your abandonment of scientific pursuits."

"Just wasn't my thing, I guess. Besides, if I hadn't, you and I _both_ would have needed to hire protection when CyberLabs got those anonymous anti-science death threats."

"Still, when you discovered that your interests did not lie immediately within the field of science, you could at least have chosen to utilize those skills in some form. It baffles me to see how you have adapted to the warrior lifestyle with such alacrity and apparent enjoyment."

"We've talked about this before. Even back on Cybertron, when I was still technically a civilian and my fighting skills were saving both of our lives every day, you were still trying to convert me back to the ways of science. Why are you so upset about this, 'Ceptor? 'Different strokes for different folks', as the humans say."

Perceptor leaned against the table behind him, apparently giving up his search. "We shall simply have to agree to disagree on this topic, old friend. I do insist, however, that you inform the Prime that I shall not be able to make an appearance at the meeting." He looked fondly over at the roomy, rather luxurious cage where the stray cat he'd found was now snoozing. "It would be cruel to keep that animal in captivity for longer than necessary, and I simply must have more time to observe and test its behavior."

"It's not like the creature is suffering. You give that thing's health and comfort more consideration than your own. And I am _not_ telling Prime that your mental prioritizing file lists 'giving vital information to Autobot officers' as less important than 'playing with new pet'."

"Nevertheless, I cannot in good conscience keep this animal for a longer period than is strictly necessary. I am making a concession to my personal convenience already by planning to take a recharge period while she (and do remind me, Brawn, to touch up these paint scratches on my fingers which I obtained while confirming her gender) remains captive. My devotion to science prevents me from taking her to a safe environment and releasing her until I have obtained as much data as possible without compromising her well-being. Thus, I must clear my schedule for the next day or so until I have completed my examinations."

"You're probably right, 'Ceptor."

"Naturally."

"There's just no way you could finish up your experiments before the meeting. All those things that you and Prowl preach about to the rest of us, like 'streamlining tasks' and 'time-management and efficiency', can only go so far. Of _course_ it's logical to put Autobot lives in danger by not contributing the scientific perspective at the meeting, so that you can gather more data about that tiny little furball."

Perceptor glared at Brawn. "Are you insulting the capability and utility of _science_, old friend?"

Brawn hastily backpedaled. "No, no, no! Just saying that you _can't_ finish up with the cat before the meeting. You're right. It's impossible."

Now, anyone who's been around mad scientists knows that it's usually a very, very bad idea to tell said scientists that something is 'impossible'. For some reason, this word almost always triggers a "that's what YOU think" response in their brains/processors, and they promptly set about trying to do just what they'd been told _not_ to try.

Brawn watched Perceptor uncertainly. The scientist was standing frozen, with a most unreadable expression on his face; Brawn couldn't tell whether his ploy was working.

Finally, Brawn had to break the silence. "If you were looking for the notes about Earth organics that Carly had sent for you the other day, they're here on the table behind me. She said to tell you that her biology course is finished, so she doesn't need them back…"

A bright glow sprang up behind Perceptor's optics, and the microscope practically vaulted over Brawn to reach the tiny binder resting on the lab table. Brawn yelped and scrambled for the door, as the unmistakable sounds of science in action filled the room again.

*******************************

Two days later, Brawn strolled into Perceptor's lab once again and greeted his friend with a smile. "So, how'd the meeting go? I heard our little feline friend was discussed."

Darting across the lab, Perceptor nodded. "Indeed, the information requested from me regarding combat strategy was minimal, as I had predicted. Prowl was more concerned with little Sonakshi."

"'Sonakshi'?" Brawn repeated. "You named her 'Sonakshi'?"

"The name's Hindu meaning is 'with eyes of gold'," Perceptor replied defensively. "Do you find some fault in such an appellation?"

"Well, she doesn't _look_ like a Sonakshi," Brawn retorted. "It figures that you'd focus in on her optics. Why don't you name her something normal, like Kitty. Or Tiger."

Perceptor sniffed. "Well, perhaps from my perspective she doesn't 'look' like a Kitty or a Tiger. I suggest that you trust me with the way things 'look' and hand me that carrying crate over there."

"As you command, 'Scepter'," Brawn chuckled, reaching for the container behind him. Back on Cybertron, Perceptor had sometimes assumed this snippy, bossy persona when he was forced to work with under-qualified student assistants. The convenient sound of the English noun related to absolute monarchy had been a source of amusement (to Brawn) and annoyance (to Perceptor) ever since they had discovered the word.

"What do you need this for, anyway?"

"Its purpose is safe transport for a creature of Sonakshi's size. Although Prowl wanted to get rid of her – most likely he's still bitter over the energon incident – he was outvoted by those who were curious, like myself, about these creatures. Apparently Spike and Carly's exhibition of the kitten they took in seems to have endeared the species in general to the other Autobots."

"Is that so. Well, let's hope they don't get so curious that they lean in real close like I did. Which reminds me: it might not be a good idea for _you_ to be taking care of her. Isn't there a human proverb that says 'Curiosity killed the cat'?"

"Oh, nothing is going to kill _this_ cat just yet. She's quite young – from my observations I would guess she's barely two years old. Perhaps twenty-five months, at most. I'll be taking her to Ratchet to take a look at her and make sure she possesses whatever she requires in order to function properly."

"So you're keeping her?"

"Indeed. Spike assured me that since the cat has no collar and there have been no recent reports of a missing cat matching this description, she is most likely a stray and therefore free for me to adopt."

"I'm surprised that you _want_ to. That cat is nothing like the friendly, hyper one Spike and Carly have – she doesn't like being held or picked up at all, and I swear she only tolerates _you_ because you feed her."

"Nevertheless, Sonakshi is here to stay, Brawn."

"Well, I still think the rest of the Ark should have a say in choosing her name. After all, if she turns out to be more sociable than _you_ and actually shows up on a regular basis somewhere other than this lab, it'll be us who have to talk to her."

"Very well, Brawn – I see you retain your scientific reasoning from your more sensible days, if nothing else. We'll ask Ratchet's opinion while he is examining her."

*******************************

When they reached the medbay, however, Ratchet was nowhere to be seen. All of the patients from the recent battle had been fixed up already, and Ratchet had gone to the rec room to take a well-deserved break. However, the medic's domain was not entirely deserted – it seemed some of the Dinobots had gotten in a minor scuffle, and were awaiting treatment.

Wheeljack shuffled around the medbay, making soft humming noises to himself as he fetched the necessary supplies to mend his creations' miraculously minor injuries. He mused to himself about the (relative) relief that the next stage of the Dinobots' development had brought – when they had some sort of dispute with each other, instead of immediately resorting to brawling, they exchanged a few blows and then employed the tactic of 'not speaking to each other' and sitting as far away from each other as possible.

He had been assured by Carly that this was not abnormal, at least among human younglings. Ratchet had then sarcastically asked her if she was willing to Dino-sit, if she was so knowledgeable about their behavior. It had been soon after Carly's huffy exit that Wheeljack had encouraged Ratchet to take his break.

Wheeljack stopped for a moment when he saw Perceptor and Brawn. "Hi guys! Always nice to see someone in here who's not injured. Ratchet's not in, so you'll have to wait until he gets back before he can look over our latest addition. I know he's really looking forward to it! In the meantime, feel like helping out?"

Perceptor obligingly walked toward Grimlock, who seemed relieved to see someone who he hadn't resolved not to talk to. Brawn lugged the kitty-carrying-case over to Swoop, who immediately demanded to see the creature inside.

Glancing over to Perceptor for permission, Brawn hopped up onto the step next to the examining table (installed there specifically for mini-bot convenience), opened the case, and carefully reached inside to retrieve the now wide-awake and hissing cat. Quickly, Brawn deposited the creature onto the table where Swoop was sitting, as far away from the edge as possible. Swoop immediately lowered himself down as far as he could manage, sprawling across the table on his belly to better see the tiny little organic. For her part, she began to clean her fur calmly and ignored the enchanted pterodactyl looming over her.

"Him cat have name yet?" Swoop inquired, his head moving slightly as the cat's tail swished from side to side.

"It's 'her', Swoop."

"Him cat name be Her? Is strange and small name. But him cat be strange and small too so name fit well."

"No, Swoop, the cat is a 'her'. It's female. And no, we haven't picked a name yet. You could help us think of one, if you like."

"Yes! Me Swoop think of name."

As Swoop deliberated, Brawn watched the cat carefully to make sure she stayed away from the edge – which she did. He silently concurred with Perceptor's description of the feline as possessing an 'innate sense of self-preservation'… until he realized that he was lapsing back into thinking like a scientist. Even the verbose vocabulary which Perceptor delighted in was coming back to him in his thoughts. Brawn mentally quashed his Inner Perceptor, letting his gaze wander around the medbay to see how Wheeljack was doing – and he quickly realized that something odd was happening.

Wheeljack had resumed humming, and the noise was having a peculiar effect on the Dinobots. All of them, and Snarl and Swoop in particular, seemed to be drifting off into recharge. Brawn noted the bizarreness of seeing a sleepy Grimlock, and looked over to see if Perceptor was observing the same thing.

Fascinated, Perceptor pounced on the engineer the next time he walked by. "Wheeljack, have you noticed the singular effect of the noises you are producing? I have been analyzing a certain noise which my cat vocalizes, and when I replay the noise back to her it seems to cause a short trend of less active behavior. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, don't tell this to Ratchet, but I got the idea from another one of Carly's suggestions. She says that human creators sometimes tell stories or sing to their creations to calm them and prepare them for recharge. I thought it might work for the Dinobots, and so far it has! Now, I'm no great shakes as a singer – and don't ask me to prove it, because you'll regret it – but I thought I could manage just _humming_ a lullaby."

"Lullaby… hmmm… what do you think of that as a name, Brawn?"

"Certainly better than 'Sonakshi', 'Ceptor."


End file.
